There Might Be A There There
by I love Lukey
Summary: Season One, “Love, Daisies, and Troubadours.” Lorelai is just beginning to date Max. Luke suggests to Lorelai that the two of them date so he can prove the newly absent Rachel wrong. There is nothing between him and Lorelai. Or is there?
1. Chapter 1 There is no There There

**Chapter 1**

**There Is No 'There' There**

**~*~*~**

**A/N of Thanks: This story is for my lovely friend, Big Bag of Weird, affectionately known as Boom! She purchased my services at the September 2009 Support Stacie Auction. I'm so touched and honored to be bought by you, Boom! Thank you so much. I know it's been forever and I apologize, but I really wanted it to be good enough for you. I hope you like it.**

**Thank you so much Jewels12, my JulieSpooly. Thank you so much for your eagle eye and your wisdom beyond your years. Oh, and thanks for that little something we call friendship! You've always been **_**there**_**! I really do appreciate you.**

**This story begins in Season One, "Love, Daisies, and Troubadours." For the purposes of this fic, Lorelai is just beginning to date Max. Instead of Luke stepping aside, like he did in the series, Luke suggests to Lorelai that the two of them date so he can prove Rachel wrong. A bit of masculine competition ensues. Only the merest hint of Rory is present here. **

**At this time, moments before posting, I have about five lackluster titles, but no clear title for this piece. I hope by the time you read this, I will have chosen one that makes sense to at least some of you.**

**~*~*~**

Rachel's parting words resonated in Luke's mind. _"So don't wait too long, okay? To tell her." _

She'd left him again. And as so many times before, he was caught off guard. This time, he wasn't just left perplexed, he was determined. In the past, he had always been able to blame the entire leaving situation on her. She was the 'anywhere but here' girl, and he was the 'she left me again' guy. That's just how it was. But what she said when she left, felt like a gauntlet being thrown at his feet. He was compelled to prove her wrong.

As if on its own volition, Luke's truck pulled into Lorelai's driveway. Rachel left, and for once, he didn't want to chase her. He wanted to talk. _Luke Danes_ wanted to talk. But not to just anyone. As he walked across Lorelai's overgrown, uneven lawn, he wondered if maybe she would be able to decipher what the heck Rachel was referring to.

Maybe Lorelai could offer a new perspective. Maybe she could back him up, and tell him that Rachel had it all wrong. There was nothing there with Lorelai. Not a spark, not a vibe, not a connection, nor whatever metaphysical mumbo jumbo Rachel had come up with.

He wondered what he could have possibly done to lead Rachel to believe that he had strayed from their relationship. He wasn't the _strayer_. He was the _stayer_. He'd proven that time and again. Just because he and Lorelai had grown closer during his last lengthy separation with Rachel didn't mean anything was going on. It just meant he admired her opinion. Well, there were other things he admired about Lorelai, but Rachel wasn't aware of those things. Was she?

Rachel was way off-base. It wasn't Lorelai's fault he hadn't once been intimate with Rachel during their last pseudo-reconciliation. He was just tired. He didn't exactly have the biggest, most comfortable bed in the world, so sleeping on the couch suited him just fine. Rachel understood . At least she said she did while he was unfolding the extra blankets each night.

Even if he _had_ entertained some thoughts about being with Lorelai, it was clear Lorelai wasn't interested in him at all. She kept saying that all she wanted was for him to be happy. She actually encouraged him to allow Rachel to stay.

If she'd been interested in Luke, even slightly, she wouldn't have pushed him toward Rachel, would she? So, even if he were more than mildly attracted to Lorelai, what was the use? She obviously wasn't interested in some diner owner who rarely shaved. How could she be? She was so far out of his league, he shouldn't even toy with the possibility of a relationship with Lorelai Gilmore.

Whatever wasn't there, maybe Lorelai would confirm its nonexistence. He'd even overheard Lorelai denying, on more than one occasion, that there was anything other than friendship between them. And to whichever townies were making the innuendoes, she'd counter by saying it was just their over-active imaginations.

He rang the doorbell and within moments saw her blurry figure through the glass. She prattled on, something about her shoes and being on time, but he couldn't make out her exact words. He stood holding his breath, hoping to receive her agreement when she opened the door.

"Oh, hi," she gasped. Her wide eyes revealed that she was expecting someone else.

"Hey, you're all dressed up." Luke noticed how her neckline skimmed low across her chest, showcasing her porcelain skin. He made a point of averting his eyes.

Almost apologetically, she replied, "Oh, I'm going out."

His eyes travelled the length of her dress, taking in the slim curves of her body. And, although Lorelai looked amazing, he forced himself to look away. Again.

She was on her way out, and he realized this wasn't the time for him to ask her any soul-searching questions about his failed relationship. "Oh, sorry. I forgot my toolbox, so I just thought I'd come pick it up."

Lorelai stepped aside. "Oh, yeah. It's right over here. Rory and I couldn't lift it, or we would've brought it to you. And then we got used to having it here, so we named it Bert. And, we'd say, 'Goodnight, Bert', and it'd say, 'Goodnight, girls.' And … we spend too much time home alone."

Luke noticed that she was babbling more nervously than usual. Sensing her tension he picked up the toolbox. "Well, thanks for taking care of it."

"Our pleasure." She smiled. That radiant smile drew him in, as always and the barriers he kept between himself and almost everyone else, crumbled.

He set the toolbox down and blurted, "So, Rachel left."

"What?" Lorelai's soft gaze conveyed such concern and tenderness, that he lost himself in it for a moment before answering.

"Last night. She left. For good."

"Oh no, Luke. I'm so sorry. What happened?"

He pushed the bill of his cap down against the back of his neck. "Ah, it's hard to explain."

"I can't believe it. I thought she was really in it for the long haul this time."

She seemed so disappointed, Luke felt like he had somehow let Lorelai down. "Yeah, well, she had her reasons."

"Really? What?" She looked at him, and their eyes locked. For several seconds, they stared at each other, barely breathing. It may have gone on infinitely, had Max not knocked lightly, then pushed open the door in time to witness the intensity of their gaze.

Half-apologizing for his intrusion, Max said, "Hello? I tried to be late."

Tearing her eyes away from Luke, Lorelai said, "Oh, and an utter failure at one minute past."

Max took in the scene. He made an awkward situation even worse by insisting upon a kiss from Lorelai. The tight-lipped peck that she returned left him fidgeting self-consciously. Luke sucked in a chestful of air and held it involuntarily.

Lorelai stammered an introduction while, managing to avoid looking at either man. "Um, so, uh, Max Medina, this is Luke Danes. Luke owns the diner. He has the greatest coffee."

_And who the hell is Max Medina? _Luke thought, sizing him up. The order of introductions wasn't lost on Luke. The one being presented, and named second, he felt every ounce the lower status 'friend' versus the higher status 'date'. Lorelai was caught in the line of fire of their testosterone-laced pissing contest.

"Oh, right. I saw you at the town meeting." Max took advantage of his full height.

Luke nodded. "Yeah, I saw you, too." A flash of heat surrounded him, then dissipated just as quickly, leaving him hyper aware of the foreign Y-chromosome invading Lorelai's house.

"Nice to meet you." Max didn't extend his hand.

"Uh huh." Luke said, continuing to appraise his opponent. He knew he had no right to stake any claims here. Yet, he couldn't bring himself to initiate a handshake.

"Mm hmm," Max grumbled back. Then he addressed Lorelai, effectively dismissing his backward-capped adversary, "So, we should be going."

"Oh, yeah." She smiled weakly at each man.

She was going out with this loafer-wearing pansy, and Luke knew he had no rights, no recourse. But that didn't stop him from ignoring the logic that screamed for him to shut the hell up and walk out the door. Instead, Luke planted his feet and faced Max squarely. "Yeah, I'm gonna get going. I just left my toolbox, from when I was here earlier. Fixing things. I do a lot of little things around here for Lorelai."

"Yeah, you're very handy." Lorelai's eyes shifting form Luke to Max, then back again. "So, Luke, we'll talk later."

"Yes, we will," he confirmed, still looking directly at Max. Luke knew he had crossed the line, but his logic was powerless against his base instincts.

Max held Luke's intense stare unwaveringly. "Although, probably not tonight. We won't be back until _late_."

Undeterred, Luke said, "Doesn't matter what time it is. I'll _always_ be around." Then he turned and walked out the door, his jaw clenching and his heart pounding.

"Bye," Lorelai called feebly to Luke's retreating figure.

Before Luke had even cleared the threshold, Max asked, "So, are we going?" The thin line of his mouth betrayed the steady tone of his words.

"Uh, yeah. Just wanted to make sure you two were through swinging those things around. Someone's bound to lose an eye."

"What are you talking about?"

"Nothing. I'll get my purse." She slung it over her shoulder, glanced back, and waved. "Bye-bye, Bert."

~*~*~

Lorelai strode into the diner, illuminating it with her smile. She took a deep breath and decided she wasn't going to let things get weird between Luke and her. He was, after all, a prime specimen of a male _homo sapien_, so being a little territorial was a given. And just because Max suspected something that absolutely wasn't there, was no reason she had to forego Luke's elixir of life.

She wouldn't bring it up, if he didn't bring it up, and they could just continue to be. To be what? What they had always been. Which was what? Friends? She couldn't help thinking about Max's insistence that he had walked in on some sort of exchange. He said he detected that there was something there. But, as she told Max the night before, there definitely was no 'there' there.

From behind the counter, Luke strode over to Lorelai's stool, coffee pot in hand, and a dish towel draped over his shoulder. "So, how was your hot date with Mac?" He placed a cup in front of Lorelai without bothering to ask if she wanted any, and filled it carelessly, allowing coffee to spill over the sides, pooling around the base of her mug.

"Max," she corrected him sharply, quickly sliding her purse away from the mess. _So much for not bringing it up_.

"Whatever," he grumbled, whipping his towel off his shoulder, lifting her cup, and sopping up the spilled liquid so quickly she didn't even have a chance to complain about it.

She wrapped her hands around the warm mug and inhaled deeply. She wouldn't have put up with his gruffness this morning if it weren't for this perfect steaming brew. After all, that's the _only_ reason she comes here. It wasn't for his company, that's for sure. Everyone knows Luke makes the finest java in Stars Hollow. The fact that he was nice to look at first thing in the morning had nothing to do with it. She wasn't looking. Nope, she wasn't even going there. "It was fine. No thanks to you."

"Me? What did _I_ do?"

"What _didn't_ you do?" She puffed out a stream of air and rolled her eyes. In an exaggerated low voice, she gruffed, "I fix things around here… Doesn't matter what time, I'll a_lways_ be around."

Luke rubbed the back of his neck, his jaw flexing. "I thought you said you wouldn't date Chilton parents."

"I wouldn't. That would be weird." She took a sip, and Luke waited. His blue eyes challenged her through his too-long-to-be-legal fringe of lashes. "What? He's not a Chilton _parent_," she insisted.

"Oh, my mistake. He looked like one of the extras from _The Dead Poets' Society_."

"He's a teacher," she mumbled into her coffee.

"A teacher? What does he teach?"

She could see his wheels turning, and braced herself for the inevitable line of questioning to follow. "The Classics of English Literature."

"Sounds like a pretty preppy class. So he teaches at Chilton?"

Lorelai nodded.

"So he's _Rory's_ teacher?"

His accusatory tone made her bristle uncomfortably. She stared into her cup, unwilling to admit to Luke what she knew could, and with her track record, probably would, devolve into a problematic situation.

"Oh, and _that_ isn't weird?"

Her eyes flashed with defiance. Suddenly she felt the need to defend herself and resented him for it. "No, it's _not_ weird because Rory won't have to deal with another student's issues about his father dating a Chilton mom."

"Yeah, she'll just have to deal with _all_ the students' issues about their _teacher_ dating a Chilton mom." He huffed and crossed his arms in front of his chest.

Lorelai flushed furiously and took a long drink of her coffee, buying herself some calming breaths. Without glancing up, she sighed, "Don't you think I've thought about Rory and how this might affect her?"

Luke softened his stance and pulled back. "Hey, you know what? Don't listen to me. I'm an idiot. This… this is none of my business."

"Because, I have." Her voice grew stronger, ignoring his disclaimer. "I've thought long and hard. And you know what? Max _likes_ me. He _wants_ to spend time with me. He made the effort to go out on a limb for me. And, even though his administration might frown upon this sort of thing, he'll take his chances." She took a long, fortifying swig from her mug, giving her words time to sink in. "It's been a long time since I've been wanted. And, unlike you, who prefers to be alone, I don't want to be alone anymore."

Luke stared down at the counter and swallowed the lump in his throat. "I didn't mean anything by all that."

"Yes, you did," she insisted. "It's funny. I was going to ask you what you thought about my situation before I agreed to go out with him. But, I predicted you'd say exactly what you just said. So, why bother discussing it, right? It's so nice to know I can always count on you for your unwavering support of my happiness." Her words were laced with poisoned honey.

"Lorelai, I shouldn't have said anything."

She rifled through her purse and took three dollars out, then set it on the counter as she stood.

"No, I got this," he said, pushing the bills back to her.

She shook her head and walked toward the door. "Not today."

That was the first time she had ever refused free coffee from Luke.

~*~*~

TBC


	2. Chap 2 There Shouldn’t Be a There There

**Chapter 2  
There Shouldn't Be a "There" There**

**~*~*~**

**  
A/N: Thank so much Jewels12. Again, Spooly, you work so hard to take away my superfluous commas and each and every chapter I give you more than I need. Thanks so much for helping me keep Luke and Lorelai in glorious denial. Ain't love grand?**

**LoriD, thank you so much for laughing with me and getting my humor. I always love and welcome your comments and insight. You're a sensitive soul.**

**~*~*~**

The doorbell rang. This time Lorelai wasn't surprised. She knew he'd be back. After all, Bert was still there, casting disapproving glances at her every time she laid eyes on his chipped paint. She and Luke had a complicated relationship. It never felt right leaving unresolved issues between them. And they'd sure left loose ends dangling this morning.

She looked at her shiny, wet nails painted to match her mood: Rattlesnake Red. With her toes separated by wavy sponge spacers, she decided to forego the waddling. Instead, she just hollered the invitation, "It's open!"

"You really should lock your door," Luke grumped letting himself in, shutting it solidly behind him. "I could be a homicidal maniac for all you know. If you're not worried about your own safety, then at least think of Rory's."

Her hackles instantly raised at yet another insinuation that she wasn't sufficiently protecting her daughter. She took a deep breath, turned to greet him over the back of the couch, her feet jutting over the armrest. She forced her voice to remain even. "Rory's in Hartford for the week."

"So you're alone all night? Without locks?"

Before the cyclical rhetoric could take root, she sighed. "Well, hello to you, too."

He stopped just short of the couch. "Hello. I just came to …"

"Yeah, yeah, to pick up Bert. I've heard it all before." She plopped down flat on her back, arms raised above her head, her eyes closed. She released her defensiveness as she exhaled reminding herself that Luke only had their best interests at heart. He didn't really mean to be overbearingly protective or an intrusive pain-in-the-ass. Luke was just being Luke.

When she looked up from her stretch, she found his eyes grazing over her bare midriff. She tugged firmly at the hem of her tee to cover her flushing skin.

He refocused toward the door. "I can see you're busy. I'll just, uh, get out of your way."

She sat up, swinging her pedicured digits to rest on the coffee table. "No. You don't have to leave so soon. Come on in, take a load off." She patted the cushion next to her while pulling at her shirt again. "You started to tell me about Rachel last night. I really am sorry."

Lorelai felt a strange mixture of relief and disappointment when Luke opted to sit on the recliner.

"Well, there isn't much to tell, except that she's gone. Again."

"Oh." Lorelai studied his face, but he was giving nothing away. "How do you feel about that?"

"How do I feel?" He rubbed his hand over the scruff on his cheek. "Um, that's a chick question."

"Excuse me?"

"I mean, only a woman would ask, 'How do you feel?' Men hate that question. I don't know how I feel. How am I supposed to feel? I guess I'm pissed that I tried. At least, I think I tried. _She_ said I tried. But, I'm not sure if I really did. I don't know what else I feel. Relieved that the inevitable has happened, I guess. Irritated, for sure. Why does _she_ always get to leave? Just once, _I'd_ like to be the one to leave."

Lorelai watched him sort through his emotions. "I think you did," she said gently.

He looked up and met her eyes. "What do you mean?"

"You left and hid out here. Repeatedly."

He nodded, seeming to absorb Lorelai's words. "She, uh, mentioned that, among other things."

"Oh, Luke, I'm sorry. It was the shopping for you, and the dressing you, right? That was really awkward. If you want, I'll call her and tell her it wasn't your fault. You didn't ask me to do that. It's a sickness of mine. I can explain how I can't keep my hands off other people's plastic."

"Thanks, but I don't think she really wants to hear it from you."

"Oh," Lorelai's voice faded. Against her better judgment, she asked, "What did she say?"

He suddenly found his bootlaces quite captivating. "She implied, uh, that there was something between us."

"Us?" Lorelai toyed with the hem of her shirt.

He nodded decisively. "You and me. Yep."

"Oh, Luke, I'm so sorry. It's an unwritten rule that you don't dress another woman's man. I totally knew that, yet I broke it." She placed one foot on her knee and carefully removed the spacer, tossed it on the coffee table, then did the other foot.

"It really wasn't that, Lorelai."

They sat in silence for several moments, focusing on the movement of Lorelai's feet as she wiggled her toes, stretched them, then wiggled them again.

Finally Luke spoke, "About your question."

"Yeah?" Something about his voice - confiding and intimate - drew her in.

"I'm not sure how I feel. But I know how I don't feel."

"Okay."

"I don't feel very sad." He looked up and held her gaze.

Lorelai's breath hitched as she stared into deep blue eyes that burned right through her.

"I was wondering what you thought."

She wrenched her eyes away from his and focused on an undefined spot across the room. "About Rachel?"

"She was wrong, right?" he asked, holding his breath.

Suddenly feeling vulnerable and over-exposed, Lorelai grabbed the nearest throw pillow and hugged it to her belly. "About there being something … more … between us?"

"Yeah, what if she was right?"

"I don't… I'm not really the person you should ask."

"You're not?"

"I'm not exactly Switzerland in this situation, Luke."

Elbows resting on his knees, he tried to collect his thoughts.

Lorelai struggled to calm her nervous fingers by grasping the pillow tighter.

Luke looked at her and waited. When she finally met his gaze, he said, "If I can't ask you about whether Rachel was right or not, who can I ask?"

Lorelai swallowed slowly and took a deep breath. "I think maybe Rachel saw some things from a girlfriend's perspective that we may not have been sensitive to. I'm sorry she left and that I may have contributed to it. I really am. The last thing I ever wanted to do is hurt you, or her, but especially you."

Luke hung onto Lorelai's words. "Do you think we should find out if she was right?"

Lorelai's eyes widened. "What do you mean?"

"I was thinking that we – you and me – could spend some time together. Not at the diner, but alone. Maybe we could eat; you like to eat. Prove her wrong, once and for all."

"I don't know." She shook her head slowly.

"What don't you know?" He wasn't letting her escape his gaze.

She stood and circled the room, putting a couch and several additional feet between them. "Luke, I can't go out with you."

"Why not?"

"Well, for one, it would make me a big fat liar if I did."

"If there's one thing you are not, it's a liar."

"I know that, and you know that. But, I just spent the better half of last evening adamantly denying that there was something going on between us."

"Denying to Mac?"

"Yes, denying to _Max. _He, um, said that he picked up on some kind of something – a vibe – between us." She swept her hand through the air indicating that she'd already dismissed the idea.

Luke's brow furrowed. "He saw something, too?"

"Don't read too much into it. He saw you in my house and he's just jealous. I can't really blame him. I mean, _look_ at you…" She swept her eyes across the broad expanse of his shoulders. "People think a single man and a single woman of certain 'charms' can't be friends. But we can. We _are_. Max asked point-blank if you and I are dating, or had been dating, or were dating, or ever will date. I said no. I'm not even sure if he believes me."

"You want to date someone who doesn't believe you?"

She clung to the back of the couch and met his eyes again. Gently but firmly, she repeated, "Luke, I can't date you."

"Give me one good reason why we can't go somewhere, besides the diner, and have a meal."

"Okay, one good reason. If I date you now, then my pants will catch on fire retroactively."

He rolled his eyes. "When you said we weren't dating, it was true. You weren't lying."

"But it would _appear_ as if I were."

"Then don't tell him."

"You're suggesting I date you _and_ him, but not tell him?"

"Yes." The tips of his ears turned pink. "That is, um…"

"What?" She tilted her head intently.

"Unless you two have already…"

"Already what?" She narrowed her eyes, almost daring him to proceed.

"… committed to each other." He didn't look away.

"You're talking about… No, of course not! We've only been on a couple of dates."

He let out a long, steady stream of air.

"And if we _had_ already 'committed,' I wouldn't even consider dating outside of the parameters of said commitment."

"So you're considering it?" A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth, immediately dissolving her irritation.

She laughed. He had snared her with her own words, and they both knew it.

"Okay, then it's settled. We're dating." He stood, strode across the room, picked up Bert, and headed for the door with a slightly arrogant smile stretched across his face.

Lorelai followed him to the door, and with one eyebrow raised, she asked, "Aren't you forgetting something?"

Luke stopped. That's what his mom used to say when his father would sometimes forget. Surely she couldn't have meant what he thought she meant. His gaze traveled from her twinkling, jovial eyes, to her slightly upturned lips. They certainly were kissable. He took a step toward her. "I forgot," he said, still focusing intently on her mouth.

"The date." She upped the wattage on her smile. "Dating isn't dating unless you have a date."

"Oh, right." He looked over her shoulder and blinked, attempting to erase the image of her lips from his mind. "When are you seeing him again?"

"What does _that_ have to do with anything?"

"I wouldn't want to interfere," he said through a grin. She burst into laughter that reminded him of the soft chime of strung seashells.

"A little late for that," she pointed out, but played along. "He's taking me to an afternoon lunch, then to the Wadsworth Atheneum Museum of Art on Wednesday."

Luke coughed into his fist, failing miserably at suppressing his smile.

"What are you smirking at?"

"The Wadsworth in Hartford?" His cough now sounded like a choke.

"Yes, we're going to see a presentation on John Trumbull's _The Declaration of Independence_."

"You're going to the museum to see just_ one_ painting?" He knew he didn't need to mock. Her expression revealed it all; she was already mocking herself.

"It's an 'Art in Focus' lecture. So yes, it's an informative look at _one_ work of art," she said defensively.

"Oh, well, if it's informative, then …" he had no idea how to finish that sentence. Max was making this so easy. "Just make sure you'll be hungry when I take you out to dinner afterward, that is, if you don't feel like reenacting a scene from an Edvard Munch painting by then."

She looked at him in shocked admiration.

"I know things," he said, a little too smugly.

She smiled. It wasn't easy to surprise her, but he frequently did. Just when she thought she had Luke pegged, he goes and throws her off her game. Like alluding to _The Scream_, or setting a dinner time immediately after her date with Max. She had to admit it was a good way to make sure she and Max wouldn't spend too much time together to 'commit.' It was a dirty trick, but she was secretly flattered by it. "That would make me a double-booker," she said.

"Technically, just a tight booker, because you'll be done looking at the _'Desecration' of Independence_ by the time I come here to pick you up."

"A pun? Is that your attempt at being punny?" She laughed again. When her laughter subsided, she said thoughtfully, "Hey, Luke. You won't be early, will you?"

"I know better than to be early," he said, encircling her wrist in the gentlest of grasps. "And Lorelai, I won't make it weird for you again."

The center of her universe was suddenly where his fingers melted into her arm. "Okay."

"So, see you Wednesday at 7:00." He released his grip, leaving a chill to sweep over her.

"At 7:00," she repeated, though they both knew that meant 7:15.

~*~*~

TBC


	3. Chapter 3 No Comparison

**Chapter 3**

**No Comparison**

~*~*~

Max took a step forward and watched as a Jeep passed by without slowing. Wrong year. He'd never noticed how many tan Jeeps there were in Connecticut before he met Lorelai. He checked his watch and forced himself to swallow his impatience. She was twenty minutes late, but he was intent on standing near the entrance of _el Sol_, rather than waiting at their reserved table, so he wouldn't miss her when she arrived. Not that he could ever miss a Lorelai Gilmore entrance.

He wasn't sure of the source of his apprehension. Things seemed to be going well between them. But when he took her out last time, she seemed a little preoccupied and didn't invite him in at the end of the date. He didn't expect anything, but being invited in would have been nice. Maybe it was just his own insecurity, but previous to his run-in with the diner owner, she seemed more receptive to his touch. Max wondered if he had gone too far in accusing her of having something going on with Mr. Fix It. She said she hadn't, and he had no reason to believe she wasn't telling the truth.

He glanced up and down the street one more time before moving away from the doorway to allow a party of men in near identical black suits to enter. Bankers or insurance men. This _was_ Hartford. Lorelai's father was in insurance. He made a mental note of asking her about his business. It seemed fascinating, as did everything about her.

He resigned to lean against the wall, out of everyone's way. Lorelai Gilmore was a woman worth waiting for, a captivating creature he wanted to learn more about. He thought the lunch date and the museum would be just the thing to let her know she was special, worth planning for, and that he wasn't just after one thing. Although, he had to admit that one thing sounded better and better, the more he thought about it.

His apprehension floated away when she breezed through the door. In her crisp white blouse and pencil skirt, she was the most perfect woman he'd ever seen. All was forgiven as soon as she tapped on her watch and mouthed, "I'm so sorry."

He greeted her with a kiss on her cheek."Lorelai, you look lovely, as always."

Just when he thought her smile couldn't be any more dazzling, she exceeded his expectations.

Max familiarized her with the menu as he escorted her to their awaiting table. "You're going to love this restaurant. We have to start with tapas. I know exactly what you'll like. They have a great salad that is a must order, and the most exotic entrées…

~*~*~

On her drive back to Stars Hollow, Lorelai reflected on the great lunch she had just shared with Max Medina in the trendiest restaurant on the waterfront. Everything was perfect. He held her chair, and complimented her outfit. They ate on the terrace overlooking the beautiful Connecticut River. They even compromised on a dessert to share, all the while keeping up a lively repartee, laughing and joking as they got to know each other.

Lorelai was enchanted. Max was so eloquent. His take on _The Great Gatsby_ and how Fitzgerald's marginally involved third person's point of view affected the entire book was deep, if not _entirely_ fascinating. Afterward, they shared a cultural experience at the museum, and a sophisticated conversation about the underappreciation of modern art. The whole date was well-planned and informational, showing her how considerate and respectful he could be when it came to treating and entertaining a lady.

At the end of the date, Max held her hand while walking her safely to her car, and told her how much he enjoyed her company. He set the plan for their next date, and assured her he would call her in a couple days to firm up the time. He kissed her warmly, thanked her for a wonderful afternoon, and waved goodbye with a smile.

Lorelai thought about how wonderful Max had been. She had even gone so far as to consider why her mother might not hate him. He worked at a respectable school, had a proper education, and could hold his own discussing anything from world affairs to Russian literature. He used _Zagat's Guide_ faithfully, just like Emily; that's how he decided on the most popular new restaurant in Hartford.

All that, and Max was a pretty good kisser. He wasn't messy or overly wet, and he didn't kiss like a lizard. He had a good tempo, nice and controlled. Comfortable. He always kept hands respectably placed on her hips or her shoulders. Nope, she had no complaints about Max in the kissing department. The best part was he tasted like white Tic Tacs. She really liked white Tic Tacs. They were her second favorite flavor, after green.

Lorelai glanced at her watch and calculated that she had just enough time to change and be ready for her 'spending some time together and eating' date with Luke. _Poor Luke_, she thought. He had no idea that his competition had just scored a ten out of ten for the perfectly planned and executed afternoon date.

~*~*~

Lorelai stood in front of the closet in her bathrobe, hair wrapped in a towel, and hands on her hips. Studying the blaze of color in front of her, she wondered how she could have such a full closet, yet not one thing to wear. She sifted through every garment she owned, even the impulse buys way in back with tags still on them, but she was at a loss. She had no idea what to wear on a date with her best friend.

They were going to a tucked away, well-established steakhouse in Litchfield. She hadn't a clue to what Luke would be wearing. Surely he wouldn't wear the hat. Hopefully he'd stray from flannel, not that it didn't suit him. But this was a date. Oh, man. A date. With _Luke_. !

She tried not to panic. Epic failure.

What the hell was she doing, dating two men who were polar opposites, not only in temperament and appearance, but also in motive? One man wanted to create a relationship with her, nurture it, and allow it to grow, long-term, steady, and stable. Max had made it perfectly clear that just being friends with her was not his objective. It wasn't even an option.

The other man was her friend. _Just_ a friend, as she'd adamantly stated numerous times, to numerous people, including her own mother, daughter, and best girl friend. There would be no exclusive relationship. He just had something to prove to himself and to his ex-girlfriend. His actions showed that he didn't want Lorelai. His intentions weren't romantic. They were more in the line of validation, or perhaps, a way to soothe his pained heart. If that's what he needed, then she'd be there for him. After all, that's what friends were for.

She took a fortifying breath and forced herself to focus on her immediate problem. Time was running out. She couldn't even pick out undergarments if she didn't know which outer garments would be going over them. Staring at the hangers didn't help, so she went straight to the heart of the matter. Shoes. She'd start from the bottom and work her way up.

Skimming through rows upon rows of footwear, she eliminated all flats and wedges. Luke was a casual guy, so she rejected all sequins, rhinestones, or other shiny objects. Any heels over four inches were out, too. She wanted to walk, not teeter. And pairs with dangling appendages were just too… dangly… for Luke, so she disregarded all those, as well.

She was left with about half a dozen pairs that fit the occasion. She grabbed the ones that caught her eye and captured her mood. They were casual and kicky, sort of sexy, but not over the top. The best part about these black sling-back sandals wasn't that she could walk comfortably in them all night, but that they went perfectly with her flippy, black skirt, the one she felt comfortable, yet flirty in. Gracing her just above the knee, she knew it showed off her legs to their best advantage. And it happened to look fantastic topped with her mint green scoop-neck cashmere sweater. She let out a sigh of relief to have the wardrobe dilemma solved and headed over to her lingerie drawer knowing exactly what she was looking for.

~*~

Luke checked his watch, and decided he was too early, even though he was already intentionally thirteen minutes late. He stared at her front door from his truck, hoping he was doing the right thing. He couldn't really mess things up with Lorelai, could he? If nothing else, this night would prove Rachel wrong. Lorelai wasn't the other girl, and there was definitely nothing between them. It would be okay with him if that were the only outcome, wouldn't it? He could go back to the comfort of being the 'left behind guy,' placing all the blame for his failed relationship right where it belonged, in Rachel's lap. That was the purpose of this whole date, right?

He pushed his misgivings out of his mind and strode up her walkway, surprised by the thumping in his chest and the slight tremor in his hand when he rang the doorbell.

~*~

Lorelai's breath hitched at the chime, and she silently chastised herself for being so jumpy. She checked the clock. Sixteen after. _He's good_.

She hesitated a moment and stared at her reflection. She didn't even come close to being Luke's type. _Rachel_ was Luke's type. Rachel was granola. Lorelai was Gummy Bears. Rachel, the epitome of low maintenance, lived her life in a duffle bag, and moved on when things seemed more interesting elsewhere. Lorelai was as temperamental as an early model Jaguar, needed an industrial strength fork-lift to transport all her emotional baggage, and wasn't going anywhere. She knew there was nothing greener than Stars Hollow grass.

She fingered the fringe of gems dangling from her ears. Her red toenails peeking out of her shoes reminded her once again that she wasn't what Luke sought. His ideal woman was at home skydiving from bi-planes while snapping evocative photographs of kittens in peril. So often Lorelai felt like the kitten. Alone on a limb, she could jump if she had to. But it sure would be nice if, for once, she had someone there to soften the landing.

From head to foot, Lorelai knew she'd never be what Luke was looking for. Tonight was going to be an easy victory for him. One glance at her should be enough to prove Miss I-don't-need-a-stitch-of-make-up-to-be-Elle-McPhereson-kind-of-pretty wrong. And tonight was about the proof. She had to keep reminding herself of that every time she wondered if Luke would kiss her good night, and if that kiss would be as intense as his gaze.

But, whatever she thought of her outfit, it really didn't matter. Luke was here and this was who she was, bad eating habits, girly-girl accessories, and all. The thought both empowered her and saddened her as she fled down the stairs.

What she found waiting for her on the other side of the glass caused what little breath she had to be siphoned right out of her lungs. Luke stood solidly on both feet, his silhouette almost filling the doorway.

Their eyes locked and she managed to whisper a raspy, "Hi."

"Hi," he said, equally affected by the loose, tussled curls cascading over her shoulders and working in tandem with the neckline of her snug sweater to frame her face.

He brushed past her and she caught the scent of the tangy, masculine aftershave that filled his wake. She breathed in, her senses awaked by his mere presence.

Her eyes followed his backside and she noticed his clothes. "You're wearing the pants! Let me see." She spun him around and smoothed her hand from his hip to the front of his thigh.

"They're just pants," he said, stepping away from her touch as if she had scalded him.

"You kept them?"

"Well, I wouldn't get much for them even if I had returned them, since they _were_ six trillion percent off."

She beamed, and circled him as she checked him out. "You wore the royal blue sweater over the black shirt. Nice." Standing behind him, she smoothed her hands across his back, and admired how the sweater fit stretched across his broad shoulders and draped casually over his slim hips. She could feel his body heat, even through the multiple layers of clothing.

"Oh, how does the belt fit?" Not waiting for an answer, she lifted the hem of his sweater and slid her fingers between the belt and his shirt, then tugged on it. "Perfect!" She smiled.

"Okay, okay." He stepped away again. "I didn't know you were going to do the whole dressing thing again, or I would have just worn jeans."

She circled back around to stand in front of him again, still focusing on his clothes. "No, I love the pants. They're so soft. And this sweater … It looks great."

"Yeah, yeah, I know. A new side of the old Luke."

"No, really, you look very handsome," she said earnestly.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah, I picked it out, didn't I?"

He nodded. "That's why I wore it. I figured if you picked it out, and if it wasn't right, I'd just blame you and your plastic fetish."

"I'm glad you wore it. All of it." She flashed him a genuine smile.

He dropped his gaze shyly and offered her the plain brown paper bag that dangled from his fist. "Oh, I brought something for you."

"For me? Cool." She opened it and pulled out a box of graham crackers. "You brought me _groceries_?"

"Well, not exactly. There's more in there."

She looked in the bag again, and her face lit up. "Marshmallows and Hershey bars! You brought me s'mores!"

"They're not s'mores yet, but I knew you liked them, so maybe later, we could make some. Or not. Whatever you want."

"Oh, I want!" she squealed. "Thank you."

"You're welcome." He let out a long breath.. "Oh, and Lorelai?"

"Hmmm?" she asked, lifting her face from the bag of marshmallows that she had already torn into.

"You look beautiful."

She set the bag down and swallowed the mouthful of marshmallows behind her open hand. Then, with a smile that reached way past her eyes, she said, "Thanks, Luke."

~*~*~

TBC


	4. Chapter 4 Wish You Had Been There

**Chapter 4**

**Wish You Had Been There**

~*~*~

A/N: Thank you so much **Jewels12** for being my wonderful beta.

When Julie last touched this chapter, it was pristine. But, I've been tweaking - so any typos are my complete responsibily, and no reflection on **JulieSpooly's** eagle eye! Thanks for reading!

~*~*~

Tucked between an import store that sold handmade purses from third-world countries and a Cold Stone Creamery, the restaurant could have easily been passed-by unnoticed. That is, if it weren't for the telltale smell of a quality steak house. Even before Luke opened the door for Lorelai, the savory aroma of aged beef, smoked, broiled, grilled, and roasted, hung in the air like a sultry, scented fog.

While the exterior was nondescript, the inside was plush. The walls seemed to recede, forming candle-lit alcoves that absorbed the quiet murmurs of small parties and intimate tables for two.

In the bar, a man in a tilted gray fedora sat at the baby grand. Oblivious to his surroundings, he played lively jazz riffs. A few rogue notes miraculously escaped being absorbed by the richly paneled walls and a calming melody wafted through to the dining area.

Luke placed an unexpected, yet comforting hand at the small of her back as they followed the maître d' to their secluded booth. When they arrived, he helped her with her wrap. An involuntary gasp escaped her lips as his fingers grazed her sweater and the weight of the garment slid off her shoulders. She could have sworn he breathed in her hair as tingles radiated from her neck to the top of her head. "Thank you." She smiled.

He nodded and waited for her to sit and slide closer to the center, then took a seat himself.

"This place is amazing," she said, glancing around at the decades-old collection of framed, autographed photos of A through D-list celebrities. They covered almost every spare inch of the walls.

"The businesses nearby come and go, but Sully's is a staple," he said. "My parents used to come here every year for their anniversary."

"So this place has history for you." Sometimes in her haste to get to work, or in her worries of how to survive the day, she'd forget that Luke was more than just the pourer of caffeinated ambrosia. But tonight was different. She looked at the man across from her, clean-shaven, dressed up, and gracious. He was acting almost as if this were a real date.

"It does. I think you'll like it. But then again, I'm talking to a lady who puts whipped cream on her chocolate-chip pancakes," he gruffly teased. "That's like putting candy on candy. For breakfast."

She was about to argue the merits of starting her day with a stomachful of simple carbs and caffeine, but the waiter approached.

He introduced himself and described the chef's specials. They listened intently to the gourmet offerings. Luke asked him to leave the wine list while they perused the menu, then called him back for a small request.

"Could you also bring the dessert menu? The lady likes to know what she's looking forward to."

The waiter politely complied.

"The dessert menu?" Lorelai asked, amused.

"Yeah, in case, you want to order dessert first." He casually ran his finger down the list of imported red wines.

"You'd let me order dessert first? Really? Without scoffing or teasing?"

He kept his finger on the wine list to hold his place and looked up at her. "Well, I might have to jeer at you a bit, but really, you're going to eat it anyway so it doesn't matter much which order it goes in."

She was still skeptical. "So I can order a chocolate fudge sundae as an appetizer, and you'd be okay with that?"

"At least you'd have a meal in between this dessert and the dessert you're going to get later at home."

She laughed. "Pretty sure of yourself, aren't you?"

"What?" His neck and ears flushed crimson. "No! I meant the s'mores. That's what I was talking about."

"I know what you meant. Relax. I won't hold you to it." She delighted in embarrassing Luke, but didn't want to push it tonight, so she waved her hand as if dismissing the idea.

His pink skin began cooling down and he laughed, too.

She propped up her menu and went straight for the entrees. "So, what looks good?"

A jolt of energy pass between them as his eyes held onto hers. "I'm having porterhouse steak."

Suddenly she felt her own cheeks blaze. Her own mother used the term porterhouse when she mentioned the way Luke looked at Lorelai. Could her mom really have seen something? "I thought you didn't eat red meat," was all she could think to say.

"I usually don't, but I eat steak occasionally."

"What's the occasion?"

"I'm with you," he said off-handedly, still studying the wine list.

The candor of his statement, unadorned and unabashed, sent a tingle pulsing up her spine. She didn't have a snappy comeback or a witty quip to defuse his words. She merely smiled at him and held his gaze. "Who can resist … steak?"

He shook his head slightly and quirked an eyebrow. "Not me."

In an effort to shake off his stare, she joked. "Although they say a portabello has a meaty, flavorful texture, indistinguishable from sirloin."

Luke went along with it. "Can you imagine coming here, smelling everything on the grill, and ordering nothing but a big mushroom?"

She tossed back a laugh. "Mmmmm! Charbroiled fungi. My fave!"

He nodded, and when her laughter faded, attempted to sound casual. "What did you have for lunch?"

She shrugged, suddenly intent on fishing the lemon out of her water with her spoon. "You know, the usual tofu and green leafy vegetables."

"Lorelai." His tone was far from patient.

"What do you want to know?" She surprised herself at the snap her words carried. "Do you really want to know what I ate for lunch?"

He persisted. "Did you have a nice time?"

She thought she detected a hint of vulnerability in his voice. "Luke, I can't talk to you about my time with Max. That wasn't part of the plan."

"What plan?"

"The plan where I go out with you so you can figure out if Rachel's leaving was your fault, or hers."

He held her gaze. "Is that all I'm doing?"

"Aren't you?" she challenged him.

He paused for a moment. "Yeah, I guess so."

She felt suddenly deflated. "Hey, Luke? Can I ask you something?"

He set the menu down and raised his chin as if bracing himself. She took that as a yes.

"Why is it so important to you that Rachel is wrong?"

His jaw flexed before he spoke. "She can't be right, Lorelai." His voice was almost whisper-quiet, but it was determined.

Lorelai attempted to ignore the knot that was tugging at her gut. She took a healthy drink of her wine then went through the motions of choosing a meal.

After placing their orders for food and wine, she broke the noticeably long silence. She figured it didn't really matter what they discussed. "Did I tell you about the museum?"

"Oh, the lecture?" He raised an eyebrow.

Grateful for the change of topic, she jumped at the chance to bring some levity to their conversation. "And it _was_ a lecture, too. I felt like I was being scolded the whole time."

"Well, what did you expect?"

"I expected it to be mockable, but not _that_ mockable! People argued _ad nauseum_ over whether or not John Adams was standing on Tomas Jefferson's foot, and whether it was a political statement or a satire."

"I'm sorry you didn't enjoy it," he said earnestly.

She believed him. As much as Luke didn't like her spending time with Max, Lorelai knew he'd never want her to have a bad time.

"Oh, I enjoyed it all right, especially when they all whipped out their two-dollar bills and magnifying glasses. They compared the backs of them to the painting just to see how much Adam's foot had moved."

"Fascinating." He swirled his wine and leaned in, which only encouraged her to grow more animated with every breath.

"And a guy in a bad toupee almost came to blows with a guy wearing an 'I heart Antonin Scalia' t-shirt over the proper use of the term 'chiaroscuro.'" She picked up her glass too.

"It does sound like you had a good time." The both drank, eyes on each other.

"I did," she admitted. "Except maybe for the shushing."

"The shushing?" He furrowed his brow.

"I was shushed."

"You? Huh, imagine that." Lightly creased fans appeared at the edges of his eyes.

"Just because I snickered at a few names." She put her wine down and folded her hands, fingers interlocking.

"Let me guess. John Hancock."

"Of course, John Hancock. What's not funny about that?"

"Nothing, it's hilarious," His voice was deadpanned, but she could see the edges of his mouth tugging into a smile.

"Oh, and let's not forget John Dickinson and Francis Lightfoot Lee!"

"You're right. All completely uproarious."

She recognized the pattern. He'd give her just enough encouragement, then pull back while she went over the top with her free association. He'd act unfazed, but she knew he was completely enthralled.

"Absolutely. And every one of them had two bad names. Not just one, but two! John, that's potty humor, but I'm not above it. And Francis! That's so not cool unless your last name is Sinatra. Even then it's still debatable, unless you open your mouth and sing like an angel. And Lightfoot Lee? Hah! More like 'Light in the Loafers Lee'! I wish you had been there." As soon as the words left her mouth, she winced. Her filter had failed to kick in on time.

"I'm glad I wasn't," he said soberly.

"Oh, here we are." Lorelai breathed a sigh of relief as the waiter showed up with their soup and salad. She vowed silently to stick to safer topics for the rest of the evening.

~*~*~

On the ride home, the conversation fluctuated between radio station arguments and companionable silence. Luke parked in her driveway, then jumped out to get her door. She slid out demurely and held onto the hem of her skirt to keep it from riding up as she descended. Ever the gentleman, he kept his eyes on hers, though his mind couldn't help wandering to her over-exposed expanse of thigh as he offered her a steady hand for balance.

Lorelai took his arm as he escorted her. After the sumptuous meal and a bottle of wine she leaned on him slightly and rested her head on his shoulder. While they walked to her porch Luke wondered if she was also aware of the heat that resonated from their bodies and met where their arms and hips touched.

When her foot slid off the third stair, she thanked him through melodious giggles for catching her. He hugged her closely to his side, explaining to himself that he just wanted to make sure she was safe, he'd never let her get hurt on his watch.

When they reached the top, he let go and watched intently while she dug for her keys. She produced them and fumbled while trying to find the right one. "See, this is why I don't lock the door. Keys suck," she complained, brushing her hair away from her eyes with the back of her wrist as she concentrated on untangling her key chain.

He took the keys, shook the tangles out, and unlocked the door. "Locks keep you safe," he said, handing them back.

She let out a groan accompanied by a dramatic eye roll. "Not the safety argument again."

"No, not again," he reassured her quietly, sliding the same tendril of hair away from her eyes and gently tucking it behind her ear. Before moving his hand away, he trailed his knuckles from her cheek to her jaw to satisfy his curiosity as to whether her skin felt as soft as it looked. It was even softer.

Lorelai closed her eyes and nuzzled against Luke's touch. He stood close enough for her to feel the warmth radiating from his body, causing her every nerve to reach out toward him. She opened her eyes and they immediately locked onto his. It seemed like an eternity while she waited for him to decide. When he finally leaned in, her senses heightened, bombarded by the brisk, masculine aroma that had been tantalizing her since the moment he walked through the front door.

She held her lips slightly parted, hardly breathing in anticipation. But instead of a kiss she received an unexpected rasp of his cheek, whispery soft at first, then pressed firmly against hers. They held their position for several heartbeats. Lorelai's awareness of his warmth, his strength, and his energy heightened. This was unexpected, confusing, yet… so much… It was more than a kiss. More innocent, yet more intimate.

They remained, hearts pounding, breathing in sync, until Lorelai found the strength to pull away. "So, you'll come in… for the s'mores?"

Luke stepped back and shoved a tremulous hand through his hair. "I think… it's probably better if I go."

"Oh?" Again, she was caught off guard. "Right." She nodded, a bit more vigorously than she realized.

"I have to open in the morning," he offered, shoving his hands in his pockets and taking a step back.

"Well, I wouldn't want to keep you up too late." She nearly succeeded in keeping her words from betraying the bewilderment she felt.

"I do get up pretty early. So… thanks for going out with me. It, um, helped me to sort through some things."

"Glad I could be of help." She tried to keep the sarcasm from dripping off each word.

With a quick nod he headed down the stairs, then stopped abruptly and faced her. "Lorelai?"

Facing the door with one foot past the threshold, her heart skipped. "Yeah?"

"I'll be by sometime this week to fix the back lock."

She closed her eyes and squeezed them tightly. "I don't get home until after five, and Rory's still gone."

"Then I'll stop by while you're at work. That way I won't bother you."

"Okay," she said, "any time before five."

"Before five."

"Um, Luke?"

"Yeah?"

"You 're right, I take it."

"Right about what?

"You know, about us. And Rachel is wrong."

"Rachel? Um, I don't … I gotta … " he gestured toward his truck.

"Yeah, you do that." She stepped inside and closed the door behind her.

Leaning against the glass, she listened as Luke slammed his truck door, fired it up, and pulled away. Her palm rested on the cool skin where moments ago his face had warmed her. Lorelai contemplated the cheek to cheek contact on the porch and her stomach fluttered, but only momentarily. When she thought of the way she had practically offered herself up to Luke only to be turned down cold, she bristled with hurt.

She didn't even know if she had the right to be angry. After all, she agreed to go out with him just to prove Rachel wrong. Well, the lab results were in: Rachel was wrong. So shouldn't she be happy that she and Luke could remain friends with the knowledge that they were innocent of any impropriety, subconscious or not?

The shrill ringing of her phone roused her from her thoughts. Her mind flashed on an image of Luke's whiskered face, and she lunged for the phone. "Hello?"

"Oh, hi, Max." She forced a cheerful lilt through her tight throat and trudged up the stairs. "No, it isn't too late … I'm glad you called, really … Um, sure, you can drop by after work."

~*~*~

TBC


	5. Chapter 5 They're Both There

**  
Chapter 5  
**They're Both There

~*~*~

Thanks again to **Jewels12** (aka – the Comma Police) for being the world's best beta!!! Without, you, I'd, have, the choppiest, sentences, with, way, too, many, commas. Thanks!

~*~*~

On her way home from the inn, Lorelai was looked forward to getting out of her work clothes and collapsing on the couch for a few minutes before Max came over. He said he had some news and wanted to tell her in person, but couldn't stay long. He had some syllabi to turn in, due first thing in the morning.

_Max_, she thought, _now there's a guy I can read_. He was attentive and polite and there was no question he was interested. She smiled just thinking about how romantic he was on the phone. He told her he missed her and couldn't wait to be near her again. And truthfully she missed being missed.

As Lorelai rounded the corner of her block, she was jostled from her meandering thoughts. Luke's truck. Her heart jumped at the first glimpse of the green symbol of potency parked in her driveway. She pulled around it and parked in front, not worrying too much about crushing the tenacious dandelions that had overtaken her lawn as soon as the snow had melted.

Before she opened the door, she flipped down the sun visor and looked in the mirror. Fluffing her hair and applying a generous sheen of lip gloss, she ventured to the front door determined to ignore her hurt feelings at the end of their date and to treat Luke as the friend he'd always been. Lorelai assumed the expression of normalcy and reverted to her default mode: humor.

"Hey, Lucy! I'm home!" She set her purse and keys on the entry table.

"In here." His deep voice came from the kitchen.

Lorelai followed his resonating words and found him sitting on a dining chair with the back door held steadily between his knees. He held parts of the old lock in his hand and was inspecting them too intently to offer more than a cursory nod as she entered.

Luke's flannel shirt was carelessly draped over the back of a chair. Apparently he'd been there for a while. His snug cotton t-shirt was smudged with grease. Beads of sweat had gathered on his brow. Lorelai glimpsed at the muscles in his arms that flexed and relaxed under sun-bronzed skin, sprinkled with wisps of coppery hair. She found it difficult to look away. He lifted one arm and wiped the sweat high on his short sleeve before briefly looking up.

"Lucy! You have some 'splaining to do!" she sang, noticing dozens of small metal bits lying on her newspaper-covered table.

"Just fixing the lock." His focus remained on the mechanism.

"Oh, well. I'll leave you to your lock fixing. I'm going to go take off these clothes," she said, then immediately clarified. "I mean, I'm going to _change_ my clothes. And then put some new ones on. I'll be back down. With clothes on."

She looked at Luke uneasily and noticed his grip tightening around the lock.

Max would be there in a few minutes. Even though she kept the driveway clear for Luke to leave, it didn't look like he'd be done any time soon. Shaking off the sting of Luke's apparent non-reaction, she asked, "Luke?"

"Yeah." He blew the dust out of the doorknob opening and followed with a quick brush of his fingers.

"How long do you think this will take?"

"I'm not sure. Why?"

"No reason." She glimpsed at the wall clock. "Except, one small reason, actually. Max is on his way. He should be here in less than ten minutes."

Luke's jaw flexed beneath the afternoon shadow that had somehow evolved into his trademark morning and evening shadow as well. He answered gruffly, "Well, I won't be finished for at least another twenty minutes. Unless you want me to leave. But I don't know when I'll be able to come back."

"Oh, no. Um, he's just popping over. He can't stay. I just wanted you to know. And now you know."

"I _told_ you I was coming this week." His voice edged toward irritation.

"No, I know you did. It's all right."

"Don't worry, I said I won't make it weird for you, and I won't." He held her gaze, then looked down at his dirty t-shirt and the mess on the table. "You know. I'll just go."

"It's not necessary. Really," She placed her fingertips on his forearm, immediately taken by the warmth that radiated from his corded muscles.

He looked at her fingers. "Okay then. I'll finish up. You won't even know I'm here."

She knew that couldn't be true; she'd always be aware of his presence. "Thanks," she said, hesitating for a few heartbeats before releasing her touch. "I'll just go change."

He nodded and went back to his task. Using a little more force than necessary, he pried the old copper plate off the door jamb and sent it flying through the kitchen, skittering across the floor and ringing out a series of metallic clinks.

Lorelai heard him mumbling curses under his breath as she took the stairs two at a time, rubbing her fingertips against her thumb to retain the heat a while longer.

Max rang the doorbell two minutes after the agreed upon time. Lorelai had to hand it to him; he was getting better. Who says shoes don't stretch and men don't change? At least_ some_ men can.

She padded down the stairs in her bare feet, wearing navy sweats and a matching rib knit tee. When she opened the door, Max was shifting his weight from one foot to another, a bright yellow bouquet in his hand.

"Hi." She ignored his perplexed grimace. "Come on in."

He took in her casual attire and asked, "I did get the correct day, didn't I?"

"Yeah, I just got home." She smiled awkwardly, then blurted, "Luke's here."

"Yes. Hard to miss the truck."

"Right." She looked at the blossoms. "Are those for me?"

"Yes, for you." He handed them to her and leaned in for a kiss, but she buried her face in the flowers.

"Thank you," she said sincerely. "I think yellow is the happiest color for flowers. And daffodils are definitely among my favorites."

"Their Latin name is _Narcissus_, named for the man from the Greek myth," Max informed her. "He was so beautiful that when he saw his own reflection in a pool of water, he fell in love with himself."

"The flowers come with a story?" she quipped, impressed.

"Oh, yes. It says that Narcissus pined so terribly for his own unrequited love that he soon perished."

"That bites," Lorelai snarked.

A series of dry coughs followed from the direction of the kitchen.

After a disapproving teacher-glare to the unseen, but certainly known, source of the interruption, Max continued, "And this flower had sprung from the spot where he lay, gazing into the pool for all of eternity. And so they named it _Narcissus_."

The high-pitched whirr of a power tool suddenly burst from the kitchen.

"Oh, well. That's a great story. But isn't it kind of …?"

"What?" Max remained straight-faced.

"Um, you know?" Lorelai tried to extrapolate a hint of a humorous reaction from him.

Another loud noise, this time a crash and what sounded like a stifled laugh, could be heard. Max looked toward the noise and with a resolved stare, said, "Shouldn't you put those in water?"

"Yes. Water," she conceded.

Max followed her into the kitchen where Luke was now facing the jamb side of the door. With one hand braced flat against the frame and the other gripped around a drill, he was intent on making the space for the deadbolt deeper. The number of pieces from the old lock

scattered across the table had increased exponentially in the few minutes that Lorelai had been upstairs.

"Luke, Max. Max, Luke. You've met." She reintroduced them, waving the flowers with a quick twist of her wrist as she strode through the kitchen to procure a vase.

"Hey," they both grumbled, eyeing each other warily.

She proceeded to snip the ends of the stems off at an angle, fill the vase, and arrange the flowers in silence while the men feigned indifference toward one another.

Luke took note of Max's navy blazer with suede elbow patches. He glanced sideways at his rival thinking, _Greek myths and art lectures. This guy is a hoot_.

"Lorelai, do you mind if I run something past you? Privately?" Max asked, glancing at Luke then back at Lorelai.

Luke cleared his throat. Lorelai ignored it and said, "Sure. How about the porch?" Luke watched them leave him in the kitchen and couldn't help noticing the way Lorelai's stretchy sweats skimmed her curves, hanging low on her hips, and how her t-shirt clung to her, with the parallel lines of the knit curving to accommodate her breasts which happened to be free of any constraining lace. He let out a breath and shook his head at himself in silent chastisement.

Once outside, Lorelai leaned against the rail with the sole of her foot flush against a post, her arms crossed tightly in front of her chest. Max faced her squarely. "Anything you need to tell me?" he questioned, his eyes boring into hers.

"About what?"

"Anything."

"Um, I broke a nail today," she said, lifting her hand to show him the minor injury. "The worst finger, too. It's so apparent when the middle fingernail is shortest. I hate when that happens. Now they aren't even and I have to cut all the others to match. It doesn't seem fair to inconvenience nine other nails just to accommodate one."

"You know what I mean," he said impatiently, not allowing her to squirm away from his glare.

"Well, if _you_ know what you mean then give _me_ a clue, because I haven't got one."

Max closed his eyes and rubbed his temples with the pads of his fingers before resuming. "I wanted to ask you something; that's why I came here today."

"And I thought it was just to give me the homoerotic flowers."

He shoved his hands in his pockets and focused on the porch ceiling. "Lorelai, can you be serious for one minute?"

"The jury's still out on that," she quipped. He glowered at her and she sobered. "Okay, sorry. I'm as serious as a heart attack. Shoot."

He rested his hands on her shoulders and cupped them lightly. "A good friend of mine has given me the keys to his place on Martha's Vineyard."

"Oh? Wow! Uh, for when?" she asked, her eyebrows arched high.

"Not this weekend, but the weekend after that. There's no one else I'd rather go with than you."

Lorelai blinked back her surprise and allowed him to finish what amounted to be a romantic sales pitch.

"It'll be fun. Just the two of us. Alone. All weekend. What do you say?" He looked at her hopefully, awaiting her reply.

~*~*~

TBC


	6. Chapter 6 Just Hold on There

**Chapter 6**

**Just Hold on There**

***~*~***

**A/N: Dear readers, thanks so much for sticking with this story. I'm sorry it took so long – but here it is! This was fun. I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. **

**Jewels12! Thanks so much, once again, for your fabulous beta work. I really needed you this time, and even though you're crazy busy, you came through! I love my, JulieSpooly!**

**Thanks also to Pansy Potter for looking over my shoulder, at the Meet and Greet, and to JMaka for her insight!**

***~*~***

From his temporary workstation in Lorelai's kitchen, Luke focused on the sounds outside. Max's Mustang door slammed and the engine revved. Luke knew there'd be more than a little rubber left on the road. Grumbling something about Ford Motors, and Ford drivers in particular, he popped the new lock in place.

He expected Lorelai to enter the kitchen at any moment. Instead, he heard her climb the stairs and close the bedroom door. Luke sighed as he tested the lock. When he was satisfied it worked properly, he rechecked it. He took his time straightening up the mess, packing and repacking his toolbox, as if it really mattered whether the crescent wrenches lay parallel to the Phillips head screwdrivers.

After what seemed a lot more than the few minutes she was actually gone, Lorelai entered the kitchen wearing a powder blue hoodie over her tank, and fuzzy pink socks.

Wordlessly, she opened the box of graham crackers and snapped two in half. She broke off two large chunks of a Hershey bar and placed them on top of the crackers before setting the stacks across the top of the toaster slots, allowing the heat to rise and melt the chocolate.

Luke leaned against the fridge, arms crossed, and watched with fascination as Lorelai impaled the marshmallow with a fork, lit the stove and held her treat over the burner. He could tell this wasn't the first time she had made s'mores without the benefit of a campfire.

She ignited the marshmallow, allowed it to burn for a few seconds, then blew it out and repeated the procedure. When she was content with proper balance of char to fluff, she sandwiched it between the chocolatey crackers. Finally meeting Luke's eyes, she offered him the gooey confection.

He shook his head. She shrugged and took a bite. The marshmallow squeezed out on all sides of the cracker, sticking to her lips and her fingers. She proceeded to eat the entire treat while he watched. When she finished, she licked the melted chocolate and marshmallow off her fingers then looked at him, waiting for the inevitable questions.

Luke cocked his head toward the back door. "So, I'm finished here."

"I see that. Thank you."

"It's a better lock. Not so easily broken." He handed her a ring and two shiny bronze keys.

She closed her hand around the keys. They were already warm. "I really do appreciate it."

"Anytime," he said sincerely. "Did I make it weird for you? I tried not to."

"I know. Actually, you were fine." She rubbed her thumb over the rough edges of the new keys.

"Good." He looked directly at her. "Is there anything I need to know?"

"About?" She looked up thinking the question sounded absurdly familiar. She wondered how it happened that she was now expected to explain herself, not to just one man, but to two.

He stepped away from the fridge and stood up straighter. "About him. You. You and him."

A surge of adrenaline coursed through her, but she kept her temper in check. "You mean something about us that you didn't know fifteen minutes ago?"

"I guess not," he said quietly.

He didn't seem angry, but she could tell he wasn't happy.

She didn't know why she had told him. He didn't really need to know. "Max did ask me something," she admitted, shoving the key ring into the pocket of her hoodie. She concentrated on the sharpness of their ridges sure they were leaving indentations in her thumb. The distraction was easier to take than the anticipation of his response.

His only reaction, a slight adjustment of his feet. He asked, "Yeah?"

"He invited me to go away for the weekend."

Luke didn't say anything at first. He just rubbed his hand over his whiskered face. "For the _whole_ weekend?"

She felt her cheeks grow hot. "Yes."

"Where?"

"Martha's Vineyard." She focused on the space above his eyes, unwilling to meet them.

"When? This coming weekend?" Luke asked with a slight tremor in his voice.

She shook her head, feeling strangely disappointed in his minimal reaction. "No, the weekend after that." _As if the freakin' calendar dates were the issue_.

He worked his jaw. She knew he was waiting for more information, but her stubborn streak refused to comply.

"So, you're _going_?"

She gave him an evasive shrug and turned to the sink.

"You're going with _him_. For the weekend?" He spoke to her back as she washed the sugary film off her hands.

Casting her words flippantly over her shoulder, she said, "I didn't think you'd care." She knew she wasn't telling the complete truth. A part of him would always care. But would he ever care enough?

He narrowed his eyes, and spat, "You're right. Why the hell should _I_ care?"

Drying her hands vigorously on the dishtowel, she turned and snapped, "That's what I figured."

"You told me you haven't committed to him." His nostrils flared slightly, but the rest of him stood statue still.

"I haven't."

"So you're just going to choose _him_? Just like that?" Luke's voice rose more than a few decibels.

Lorelai flung the towel on the counter. "I didn't _choose_ him. Besides, is there someone _else_ I could have chosen?"

He let out an incensed huff. "_I'm_ here fixing your lock, aren't I?"

"Which you broke!"

"Which I fixed!"

"Again, which _you_ broke!" she said, surprised that her volume had surpassed his. They glared at each other while Lorelai felt her heart pounding.

Luke took a deep breath, "Go ahead, go away with Rory's teacher. I wish you a future filled with lots of happiness and literature."

"Oh, so you're going back to the teacher issue? What's wrong? You have some hang-ups about your youth? Trouble learning your ABC's and 123's? Maybe a little crush on Mrs. Smith? What happened, Luke? Did she make you stay after school and clean her erasers?"

"I did just fine in every subject, thank you." He glared at her. "And I don't have any hang-ups about school. _I'm_ not the one who's dating my daughter's teacher!"

"I know you don't approve. So go ahead, say it," she prodded.

"Say what?"

"I'm a bad mother. I don't care about Rory or her feelings. Isn't that what you want to say?"

Luke took a step closer and pointed to the floor, emphasizing his point. "I never _once_ said you were a bad mother."

"Maybe you didn't actually say it, but you _implied_ it."

"Now you're just putting words in my mouth," he hissed.

"Someone has to put words there, because you certainly aren't."

"You're doing just fine arguing for both of us." He whipped his flannel over his shoulder, picked up his toolbox, and brushed by close enough for her to appreciate his woodsy masculine scent in spite of her seething anger. "I'm finished here!"

She followed him to the entry, hands firmly on her hips. "So that's it?"

"That's it."

"I don't understand why you're so mad."

He faced her squarely. "I thought _we_ were dating."

"_Are_ we, Luke?"

He raked his eyes down her body, then back up again. Finally he conceded, "_I_ thought so, but apparently _you_ had a different interpretation of it."

Lorelai took a fortifying breath to go another round. "Going out to dinner just to prove your absentee girlfriend wrong is _not_ dating. Besides, you're the one who's made it abundantly clear that you don't want to be with me, at least not in the dating sort of way."

"I'm so glad that you're an expert on what _I_ want," he snarled.

"I'm not just making this up. A lot of things point to that conclusion."

"What things?"

Swinging her arm as if playingRochambeau, sheheld up a finger for each point she made. "You didn't call me. You didn't set up a second date. You wouldn't come in for s'mores. And, you arranged to come over, but made sure that I wasn't home when you showed up."

He rubbed the back of his neck for a few moments. "So you took that as me not wanting you?"

"That, and the fact that you didn't want to kiss me," she said, her disobedient voice cracked against her best efforts to control it.

He set Bert on the entry table and tilted his head. "Who says I didn't want to?"

She blinked a few times, willing herself to stay conveniently hidden behind the anger. No way she'd reveal how hurt she was; he was obviously on a different page. In a much quieter voice she said, "It's okay, we tried. Rachel was wrong. You were right. You win."

He moved closer to Lorelai. "This has nothing to do with Rachel."

"This has _everything_ to do with Rachel."

"How so?"

Lorelai looked away. "You said you wanted to prove her wrong."

"Maybe it started out that way, but now...."

"Now what?" She squeezed her eyes, trying to block some of the pain and confusion.

"Now I'm not so sure." He took another step toward her. "And who says I didn't _want_ to kiss you?"

She felt the energy radiating from his body. Was it the anger sizzling between them, or something more? "You ever heard of free will?"

"What is that supposed to mean?"

As he stepped even closer, her breath hitched.

She hid behind sarcasm. "Free will. You know, that little yearning that pops into your head every morning and compels you to choose yet another plaid shirt."

"I just needed some time to process." His unwavering eyes bore through hers again.

She ignored her shortness of breath and the fact that he was now only two feet from her. The full breadth of his shoulders loomed before her like a magnetic brick wall. "Process what?"

"This. Us. Everything."

She held her chin high, mustering enough self-preservation to at least pretend his words didn't sting. "I didn't think it would be such a tough decision for you."

He didn't blink. "But it is."

"Not exactly what I wanted to hear, Don Juan."

"Sorry, but I'm fresh out of Greek myths."

"I'm not asking for myths," she said, her eyes fixed on his.

"I probably won't bring you flowers. And I definitely won't take you to an art lectures."

"It's not about myths, flowers, or museums."

"Then what's it about? What is all this about, Lorelai?" He asked, his voice soothing and caressing, the angry edge replaced by sincerity.

"It's about so many things, Luke. Little things. Important things. It's about restaurants with history, a hand on someone's back, the option of dessert before dinner, worrying about someone's daughter's safety - no matter how paranoid that may be - and fixing a lock with a better and stronger one. It's about being there to catch someone before they fall. It's about wearing clothes that someone picked out for you, even if you aren't sure about them, and bringing s'mores even though you're philosophically opposed to processed foods. It's about mocking the mockable, including yourself, and wanting to talk about things that matter."

She couldn't decipher his expression, but she figured it landed somewhere between 'Holy Chatterbox, Batman' and 'Whatchu talkin' 'bout Willis?'

"It's about friendship, but maybe more." She was already on a roll, so she decided to continue her downhill plummet. "If you wanted to kiss me, you'd at least have tried. That's what dating is for; it's a built-in excuse to get the first kiss out of the way."

How had the distance between them disappeared so quickly? She sucked in a breath as his finger trailed down her cheek, leaving bursts of energy crackling in its wake. Eyes set on hers, he traced the outline of her jaw. With just the slightest hint of pressure, he tilted her chin, his finger pulsing at the juncture.

Luke dipped his face and movedso closeher, every nerve reached and stretched toward him. His intimate growl sent shards of awareness straight to her core. "What if I don't want to just get it out of the way?"

She let out a small gasp, closed her eyes, and involuntarily moved a millimeter closer to relish the heat that fused them together. This is where they had left off the other night. She wasn't going to get pulled in again, damn it. It was too much. It was not enough.

His words resonated against her throat. "What if I want to kiss you so deeply and so thoroughly that I want it to last all night?"

Lorelai stood frozen. Her chest felt as if it were constricted by a tourniquet, but she knew she was breathing by his crisp scent that invaded her senses.

His whiskers stirred her skin as they skimmed her face with every word. "What if once I start kissing you, I won't be able to stop?"

Lorelai swayed into him as he wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her in. Like an art study in contrast, they stood embracing with soft curves melting against hard planes. She clung to his shoulders, afraid he'd let go, afraid he never would.

They held each other, breathing in sync, straddling the line between friends and lovers. Hovering in the realm of dissonance, she wondering who would jump first; if either would. After several seconds, Luke pulled away just enough to look into her eyes. "Don't go with him."

"Luke?" She recognized torment in his blue depths, and blinked away her own.

"Tell me you won't go." His hands clutched the contours of her hips, punctuating each word with a compression to her pliant flesh. "_Please_."

"I … He asked how I felt about you."

His look of torment intensified. "What'd you say?"

"You know I'm a terrible liar."

"So…?"

"So I told him the truth." She heard him swallow hard. "I told him I didn't know how I felt about you, and that he was a wonderful man."

Luke looked away and nodded in concession, allowing his hands to slip from her. She caught them and curled her fingers around them, gathering his warmth and strength as she inhaled. "And that he would make some woman very happy one day."

"But?" He lifted his gaze and hope sparked faintly in his eyes.

"But, I want to be with _you_," Lorelai said, feeling as if she'd bungee jumped off the Grand Canyon. There was no un-jumping. She just had to trust that the cord would be strong enough to absorb the impact.

His cheeks tugged at his lips, hinting at the underlying relief. "You do?"

She nodded, her smile crashing through all of their misgivings. "I do. _Only_ with you."

"I want to be with you. God, I want to be with you." As if his entire world were centered at her lips, he brushed his across them. Patiently and painfully soft, he kissed her. She gasped in surrender as he enveloped her in his embrace.

Lorelai slid her hands up his shoulders and behind his head, her fingers twining through his curls. With one kiss, they had taken the leap together and neither had the will to resist.

They stood there for minutes, tasting, touching, exploring. If time were kept by the heartbeat, it could have been hours, days, teasing at the boundaries of desire.

Luke guided her through the room, never releasing her lips. When she reached the back of the couch, their bodies collided. He slowly unzipped her jacket, pulled down one side, revealing a creamy shoulder. He covered her neck and collarbone in kisses from feather-light to ravenous. Effortlessly he lifted her to sit on the back of the couch. Her legs curled around his hips for balance, and they both pushed the fleece away, impatient for more skin.

Riding waves of desire, they allowed each to crest, and flatten to slow down, take a breath, and allow the newness to sink in. Lorelai pulled back against the novelty to ask a question which lay heavily on her mind. "Hey, Luke?"

He trailed kisses back to her lips, paying excruciating attention to the ever-increasing expanse of exposed skin along the way. "Yeah?"

"They were right."

"I know," he said, locking onto her gaze.

"And you're okay with being wrong?"

"C'mere," He wrapped her in his arms, cradling her head against his chest. "I've never been happier to be wrong in all my life," he whispered.

She melted into him, inhaling his essence with each breath. It was definitely there, a connection she could no longer deny.

He kissed her again and suddenly she'd forgotten why she tried to deny it in the first place.

~*~*~

The end of my story.

The beginning of theirs.


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